


At Last, My Love

by Firegirl210



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Death, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock outlives Jim by so many, many years. But eventually, he too will pass. What waits for him beyond that veil?</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Last, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either of these wonderful men. The fire scene at the beginning is a reference to another story I am writing, sorry for any confusion.

 

I have nearly died many times in the course of my life. I have been poisoned, shot by phaser fire, stabbed, shot by old fashioned lead pellets, bombed, and on one occasion relieved of my brain. I have actually died once before; I remember very little of the experience. My intelligence was torn between its holding place inside Doctor McCoy and a frighteningly empty darkness in which I floated without sense of time or self. Oblivion.

I was quickly returned to my proper location inside my own form. However...I have often wondered if I might have left a part of myself there in that darkness.

My final death took me quite by surprise; bursts of flame and young voices screaming, smoke and chaos, and destruction I could never have forseen. I floated there at the edge of that final precipice for what felt like an eternity before I slipped...waiting for you, I suppose.

Waiting for Jim.

You never...

Jim...

Darkness.

\--

Sunlight, warm and vibrant, is warming my skin, leaking through my closed eyelids and painting the insides of my eyes orange and purple. I blink, momentarily blinded by the brilliance of the light. A window lies directly in front of me, overlooking a forested valley and craggy blue peaks stretching for the sky. I blink again and the window is gone, replaced by the pale grey wall of a starship interior.

I sit up slowly--I realize I had been lying down hence--and survey my surroundings. I appear to be in sickbay aboard the Enterprise, which momentarily confuses me. I distinctly recall an impossible gap of time lying between myself and this place. To be here now...

“About time. You’ve been unconscious for so long I was about to move you to the coma ward,” a familiar voice grouses to my left, and I turn to find a disgruntled Doctor McCoy leaning in the doorway. His eyes move up and down my figure, seeming discontent in their nature; then again, he is Dr. McCoy and I rarely knew him to occupy an emotional state differing from discontent.

I observe him too; he appears to be in his late 40’s, his relative age at the height of our endeavors aboard the Enterprise, our five year mission of exploration and discovery.

“I assure you, Doctor, it was not my intention to distress you,” I quip back to him, and his eyes narrow. They are a much starker blue than I remember; every color is vivid and intense.

“The only thing distressing me is you cluttering my sickbay! If you’re fine then get out of here and let me work!” he snaps, and I raisean eyebrow in slightly pointed triumph.

“Doctor, if I have been unconscious for an extended period of time, would it not be prudent to complete a full medical examination before releasing me?”

McCoy’s expression takes on an exceedingly frustrated nature and he storms over, face deeply lined with dangerous emotion.

“You telling me how to do my job?” he growls, and I meet his gaze calmly and innocently.

“Certainly Doctor. Since you have apparently forgotten proper procedure, I will likely continue to advise you until such a time that you demonstrate an acceptable level of competency for me to leave you to your own devices,” I say with a final flare of insult, and his face reddens in fury.

“You green-blooded hobgoblin! I ought to wring your Vulcan neck!” he practically howls, and I raise both eyebrows in mock surprise, fending easily his flailing arms as he swings them at me in a jesting but furious onslaught.

“The act of murder seems somewhat of an overreaction, Doctor,” I point out, catching his wrists, and he scowls. But there is a slight upturn of his lips and his vibrant eyes seemed alight with mirth. Upon the ceasing of his struggling, I release him and he surprises me by letting out a burst of laughter, and irrational reaction. He claps a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head as his bout of joy dies.

“It’s really been too long, old friend. It’s good to see you.”

His abrupt change in demeanor confuses me, and he motions for me to get up and follow him as I try to decipher his odd behavior. Leonard McCoy always was a most difficult human to understand, and the many years between our last meeting does not lend assistance to my struggle.

I stand and am surprised to find every muscle not only in perfect working condition, but actually perfect, much more lithe than I had ever been and a significant improvement upon the ancient bones I have become accustomed to.

“Well? You coming?” He gestures impatiently, and I stride across the room to join him. He leads me down the familiar hallways, almost ambling in his pace, as if there is something he wishes to speak about. Finally, he does.

“How’ve you been, Spock?” he asks gently, and I raise an eyebrow in reply. He knows that this is a physical manifestation of my confusion with his reasoning for asking the question in the first place and scowls defensively.

“Well it’s been a while! Hell, Spock, I haven’t seen you in a hundred years. It’s allowed for me to want to be friendly!”

“I suppose you are entitled to your expressions of emotion, Doctor. May I ask a question?” He looks a bit surprised that I accepted his explanation so easily, but nods.

“Are we dead?”

He sighs. “You know Spock, I feel like it would be impossible to discuss that without a common frame of reference,” he snaps, and I pause in my walking as I realize he is turning my own words on me. I raise an impressed eyebrow.

“Well, Doctor, it would seem we have finally reached such a frame. We have both gone, as you would no doubt agree, where all men must go,” I point out, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yes Spock, we’re dead. Were you expecting more of a pearly gates scene, or maybe the tartarusian pit would better fit your expectations?”

“I can only assume you are indicating that I am more suited for your Christianity’s Hell than Heaven, but I assure you Vulcan has no such ideals. I had no pre-existing expectations on the matter. Would you explain something to me?”

“Well since I’m your Crossing Guide, that’s the general idea,” he replies with that particular sharp tone which was indicative of his peculiar brand of sarcasm.

“Crossing Guide?”

“Mhm. The Keepers pulled me out of my perfectly happy place here just to escort your sorry ancient Vulcan ass to your Elysium.”

“Elysium; an Ancient Greek ideal of the afterlife which entailed a paradise for the righteous and deserving. You are taking me to a place based on such a concept?” I postulate, and he shrugs, boarding the turbolift and gripping the handle.

“Top Floor,” he orders, ignoring my question at the present time, and I try to suppress the wave of irritation I feel at this reaction to my perfectly valid inquiry.

“I can only take you so far, then you’re on your own. My job is to sort of explain what will be expected of you and whatnot. Jim did a godawful job of explaining it all to me, I’ll tell you that!”

This comment gives me reason to pause; why hadn’t the Captain met me here?

“...Jim is here?” I ask, and McCoy sighs as the turbolift slows to a halt.

“I’m just the Crossing Guide, Spock. I don’t know what your Paradise looks like or who you’ll see there or any of that. It’s different for everyone.”

The doors slide open, momentarily blinding me again with light. I am gazing out onto the same aesthetically pleasing forest scene which greeted me earlier, and down a small winding dirt road rests a log cabin cut from the land. I blink and the vista is gone, and I find myself staring down a grey hallway that ends in another red turbolift door.

“I can’t take you any farther. Your Shepherd will guide you from the other side of that door,” McCoy explains somewhat unhelpfully, and as I take the first step into the hallway he suddenly clutches my arm.

“Be careful, Spock. Don’t linger here or you could get stuck,” he warns seriously, and I pop an eyebrow.

“Stuck, Doctor?”

“Yes, Spock, stuck!” he snaps, “where do you think ghosts come from?”

Normally I would have ridiculed his statement, but the echoing hallway gives me a strange feeling and I am inclined to believe his superstition. I nod.

“Very well, Doctor. I will not stop.”

He lets me go and I step into the hallway. The door swishes closed and I begin to walk, and as I do so a curious thing begins to happen. The grey walls begin to swirl with colors and sound, voices and faces and scenes from my past.

“What do you make of it, Mr. Spock?”

“So help me, I'm actually pleased to see you!”

“All I know is logic.”

“I felt for him, too.”

“I believe there's some hope for you after all, Mr. Spock.”

“Space still contains infinite unknowns.”

“We humans are full of unpredictable emotions that logic cannot solve.”

“The logical thing for you to have done was to have left me behind.”

“Mr. Spock, you're a stubborn man.”

“It is my right. By tradition, the male is accompanied by his closest friends.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how much Starfleet has invested in you?”

“Random chance seems to have operated in our favor.”

“One does not thank logic.”

“Spock, I don’t know too much about these little tribbles yet, but there is one thing that I have discovered. I like them better than I like you.”

“Is like summer in Moscow.”

“You have not yet achieved Kolinahr. He must search elsewhere for his answer. He will not find it with us. Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Jim... This simple feeling is beyond V'ger's comprehension.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few...or the one.”

“I have been and always will be your friend.”

“James T. Kirk!”

I reach out and touch the cool red metal of the door, a startling amount of desperation welling up inside me. These memories are mine, from every step of my life and every face I ever encountered. The door slides open and the dreadful cacophony ceases. I look up and feel joy expand in my chest, nearly pulling a smile from me.

“Mother,” I greet her, and she smiles at me with all the gentleness and love which are characteristic of a mother who truly loves her child. She embraces me, taking my face in her hands and analyzing my appearance for a moment before she speaks.

“Oh Spock. It’s been too long, my beloved son,” she says emotionally, kissing my forehead gently. I allow the contact because I have honestly missed her and feel no reason to deny myself the gratification of being once again in her presence.

“You are my...Shepherd?” I ask, and she nods, smoothing the front of my blue starfleet uniform. I have not worn this in many years...but I spent the best years of my life in its fabric folds and it seems right that I should find myself in it now.

“Yes. Follow me, and don’t look back,” she instructs. I obey, striding in her shadow as she leads me into a wild jungle environment which is both familiar and disconcerting. I know it...but as if from a dream.

“Where is this place, Mother?” I ask, and the luminous moon that rests on the horizon begins to dip below it. She offers me her hand, which I take.

“Genesis. You remember being here?” she inquires, and I shake my head.

“Why are we here?”

“Spock...as you once said yourself, Each of us at some time in our lives asks, “Why am I here? What was I meant to be?" You must accept that the answers to these questions are not to be discovered. You decide why you are here, you choose what you are meant to be. Why do you think we are here?”

I ponder this statement for a moment. “I would assume it is because this place was a source of rebirth, of second chances. I took my new life and spent it in a way which I do not regret,” I decide, and she smiles.

“You are very wise, my son. And what were you meant to be?”

This answer does not come as easily to me. We wander in the darkness beneath a million brilliant stars and suddenly I am struck with an acceptable response.

“At Jim Kirk’s side,” I say firmly, and her eyes glitter in silent appraisal. She holds an unspoken question in her eyes, and I elaborate.

“My role in life has changed many times, Mother--First Officer, Science Officer, Captain, Teacher, Ambassador, Wanderer. But the place where I felt most at home was always by his side. Kolinahr was not effective on me because it was at his side where I found my inner peace. I was meant to be Jim Kirk’s First, always.”

Suddenly the jungle flickers like a malfunctioning hologram to be replaced by a pine forest bathed in morning sunlight, and the white crested mountains around us soar to the sapphire sky. I turn to my mother in question, but she is gone, and instead I find myself facing a winding dirt path that disappears down slope into the forest. Given no other option, I follow it along it’s dappled way until I emerge from my trek in a sunny clearing.

The same log cabin which I perceived in my earlier vision nestles in the trees before me, and no sooner have I decided to go towards it than I find myself at the door, hand raised to knock. I follow through with the motion, and it opens beneath my fingers.

I step inside, the cool dark interior smelling of leather and earth and pine and something vaguely, achingly familiar--

“Spock?”

I start and turn towards the voice which I recognize immediately, because who else in the entire universe says my name that way with extra inflection on the first two letters as if he savors the sound?

There he is, standing in the doorway to another room dressed in a faded gold and black plaid patterned shirt holding a ceramic plate and dishrag as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When our eyes meet he drops the plate, and the shattering sound barely reaches my ears as I decide ‘to hell with emotional suppression.’ We throw ourselves through the space between us, meeting with star-rattling force, and he embraces me so tightly I believe for a moment that he may break my ribs but it doesn’t matter because he is whispering my name and clutching my hand and our hearts are beating together again as they haven’t for nearly one hundred years.

“Spock...I’ve been waiting for a very long time for you to get here,” he murmurs, and I stroke my fingers down the side of his face, unable to keep the soft smile from my lips. Only Jim will see; he has already seen every part of me, there is no sense in hiding anything from him.

“I am sorry it took so long, T’hy’la,” I reply, and he pulls me down from my superior height to place a kiss upon my lips. I have longed for this contact in its absence, and join our fingers as I allow my consciousness to wash over the familiar planes of Jim’s mind.

I realize suddenly that this is my eternal Paradise. Living here with Jim, staying at Jim’s side always. And I decide that it could never have been any other way.


End file.
